The Proverbial Empty Nesters.

It has happened before that my fascination with birds has launched a blog... and this blog will be no exception. The whole Grace Mesa thing is really about how God so faithfully cares for us, and there is no better illustration of this theme than this little slice of our daily bird watch.

After the neighborhood birds began to recognize our place as a reliable source of food and water, soon representatives of the various Hill Country bird species began to honor us with the status of bird day-care center. Most thrilling, besides the presence of so many young birds, just learning how to fly, how to fend for themselves, how to SURVIVE, was watching the Cardinals raise their young.

First of all, the baby cardinals are... well, babies only a mother could love. They are sooty-beaked, patchy and scruffy, and their head feathers stand straight up as if there are all running for Indian Chief. They are charmingly ugly and ridiculous. This must be to confound predators into thinking they are some kind dangerous species, not to be messed with. But the fact is they are just gangling adolescent brats, totally spoiled and dependent on their meals being delivered regularly.

But here is the interesting thing, like the intrepid Emperor Penguins of the far north, the cardinal father plays an indispensable role in the daily care of his offspring. And this is very necessary, as Mrs. Cardinal has raised a bunch of needy crybabies who refuse to grow up.

 Cardinal fathers as a rule are much more devoted and useful than most human fathers. 

Each morning Mr. and Mrs. Cardinal bring their more manageable youth to the feeders, where they are carefully monitored. The babes just stand there, waiting. Surely someone will bring some food shortly. The parents watch out of sight, waiting for them to try to feed themselves. But the rotten little things just look at each other, barely taking a step, and peck randomly, as if they do not know that they are standing right on top of a pile of breakfast. The young cardinals can fly, hop, fight, whatever, but they apparently cannot feed themselves.

Finally one of the devoted parents will flit down and pick up a seed, and approach one of them. Now it is time for the young cardinal to put on his best act, the most pitiful flapping and shaking he can muster, as if to day, Oh God, I am dying here, somebody feed me. This seems to work every time.

 Here stupid!

The parent cardinals are the living embodiment of the phrase “helicopter parents.” They put the kids out, as if to set them on their own, but then cannot stand if one of them is the least bit inconvenienced. It's very cute, and reminded me of human children. They want to grow up, be independent, avoid parental oversight, and even refuse criticism, but are often slow to really fend for themselves. It's fun to play baby. A long as mom and dad go along. 

 

 And these parents make humans look lame, as they go out on a limb to spoil their helpless flock.

The cardinal babies are experts at managing their parents, making demands so constant the parent birds have little time for themselves, and keeping them busy for weeks as the young ones mature. And they are in no hurry. After all, what else do mom and dad have to do?

 It was birds, not humans who invented the “empty nest” syndrome, and cardinals who perfected the procrastination of it.

 You can't blame me!